I Couldn't Love You More
by tbazzsnow
Summary: One shot fic based on artwork posted at Tumblr by dancingwithdinosaurs. gorgeous art of Simon and Baz at a posh party, post canon. Baz and Simon, recently returned from their wedding trip, attend a family function and reflect on each other and their relationship. Fluff.


**I Couldn't Love You More**

**Baz**

Even after all these years Simon still hangs back, hovering around the edges at events like this. He knows all the guests by now, each and every one by name, knows the Old Families hold no malice towards him.

Not anymore.

Not since he saved the World of Mages.

But he still finds it difficult to mingle, preferring to keep near the tables laden with food.

Of course. Food will always be a comfort to Simon.

I extricate myself from my somewhat tedious conversation with Miranda, one of my father's distant Grimm cousins, and make my way toward Simon.

"You've hardly left the hors d'oeuvres table. One would think you only showed up for the food."

"I _do_ only come for the food. Your family knows how to put on a good spread." Simon grins as he plucks another shrimp from the tray next to him.

I bump his shoulder. I can feel the heat of him, even through the layers of our suits. He still runs as hot as he ever did.

"You can take your suit coat off, if you like. It's warm tonight."

Simon instantly shrugs out of it, the relief visible on his face. "You and your posh family gatherings." He casts about for a place to put it but then shrugs and drapes it over his arm.

He's as gorgeous in just the waistcoat. I don't think Simon realizes how magnificent he looks in a suit and what the sight of him in one does to me, even now, years after I first saw him in one. One of mine to be exact. A shade of grey not too far off from this one.

The suits he wears now are tailored to him. Every stitch created for Simon, bespoke ensembles that hug his thighs and showcase his broad shoulders. He's delectable in a ratty t-shirt and trackies—in a suit he's simply breathtaking.

I shake my head and turn to scan the crowd again. I can't think clearly when he looks like this.

Dev's parents are celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. They've rented out The Sky Bar for the night; invited not only the entire extended family and the members of the Coven, but likely all the magical families in the greater London area. The place is swarming with people.

It's a lovely night for it though, warm but not humid, the light summer breeze ruffling Simon's curls, the late afternoon sun burnishing them to a golden bronze.

He's beautiful, my Simon is.

He is _my Simon_, for now and forever. My thumb brushes over my ring, spinning it lightly. It's become a habit already in the short weeks since Simon placed it on my finger.

That's the main reason everyone is bound and determined to chat me up tonight. We've just returned from our wedding trip to Egypt, Greece, and Italy. Three weeks traveling the Mediterranean.

It's given Simon an even deeper tawny glow, made more freckles appear on the bridge of his nose and all across his back. New constellations for me to familiarize myself with on his skin.

The sun even managed to brighten me up a bit. I'm not quite as pasty white as when we left. Not ruddy or golden like Simon, mind you, but more color than I've had in years. The photographs we took make me look almost human.

He's fidgeting now, shifting his suit coat from arm to arm. I take it from him with a sigh. "You are a nightmare. Come along. I'll drop this at the coat check. Don't let me forget it when we leave."

Simon follows me into the cool darkness of the bar, fingers sliding to intertwine with mine.

**Simon**

It's not so bad tonight. I still get edgy, at big gatherings like this. I'm not sure what to say or quite how to be with these people, even now.

I don't mind the Grimms. I'm used to them. And not just Baz's immediate family, but his cousins and aunts and such. Dev's around all the time now that he's moved back to London, so we see him and his family quite frequently.

Baz and I end up attending a fair amount of family events. Birthdays, wedding, anniversaries—it's a huge family so it always seems like someone is celebrating something.

I wish Fiona were here tonight. She's back in Prague this summer.

She'd be by my side right now, whispering all sorts of outrageous details about those in attendance, poking fun at outfits and hairstyles, downing drinks, and blowing her cigarette smoke into the face of whoever was boring her at that particular moment.

Not that Baz isn't good company. He's the best. He's as adept at the hilarious murmured commentary, maybe better. I can't keep a straight face half the time, with what all he's whispering to me.

He doesn't expect me to mingle or make small talk. Baz lets me slip away when it all gets to be too much. But he's far more poised and proper than Fiona, knows he needs to make the rounds, shake hands, engage in the mindless small talk that's expected of him as the heir to the House of Pitch.

That's when I usually slip away. To the food table, more often than not, unless Niall's in attendance and then we usually end up at the bar.

Niall's in attendance tonight, but he's sticking close to Dev. That's alright. Makes sense, it does. It's Dev who did all the planning for this.

It's better without my suit coat. I feel freer, less encumbered this way. I'm still warm, but the sun's lower now and the breeze has picked up a bit. I make my way to the railing at the edge of the rooftop bar. It's cooler here.

Baz's father dragged him off to meet some new business colleague a few moments ago. Baz reads me so well—I begged off with just a look. It's left me free to wander about on my own again, which is how I prefer it anyway.

There's an unexpectedly empty bench, covered with plush white cushions, at the far end of the bar. I can see the city spread out around me. I stand next to it, arms on the railing, taking in the glorious sight of the London skyline.

Not as dramatic as Athens. Or the view of the Pyramids at sunrise. But it's familiar, which makes it far dearer to me.

It's not long before arms slide around my waist and Baz rests his chin on my shoulder. "Alright, love?"

I tilt my head back and inhale the scent of him.

He pulls me down onto the bench, one arm slung over my shoulder. I lean into him, resting my elbow on his knee. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

This. This is home. This is where I belong.

In Baz's arms.

* * *

_** ( title from the song Home by The Cure)**_


End file.
